"No, not enough, I fear."

"But why?"

"The white man is not in his senses. He has lost them long ago. The little left him is given to Shebotha. He fears her, as all our people do; but he more than any. She has surely left him with commands to keep a close watch. He does not disobey her; and it may be impossible for me to speak with the paleface, much more get her away from him."

"_Caspita_!" exclaims Gaspar, his countenance again turning grave.

"There will be a difficulty there, I see it; if the man's crazed, as you say he is, Nacena. You think he won't let you speak with the prisoner, unless you have permission from Shebotha?"

"He will not--I am sure he will not."

"In that case all may be idle, and our scheme go for nought. _Por Dios_! what's to be done?"

Pressing his head between his hands, the gaucho stands considering, while the other three in silence await the result. His deliberation is not for long; a bright idea has flashed across his brain, and with his countenance also recovering brightness, he exclaims--

"_Gracios a Dios_! I know how it can be managed; I think I know."

Ludwig and Cypriano have it on their tongues to inquire what he means.

But before either can say a word, he is off and away in a rush toward the scaffold-post to which Shebotha is tied.

Reaching it, he is seen with arms outstretched and in rapid play, as though he were setting her free. Far from that, however, is his intention. He but undoes the knot around her neck, and raising the poncho, clutches at something which encircles her throat. He had noticed this something while throttling her when first caught; it had rattled between his fingers as the beads of a rosary, and he knew it to be such, with a slight difference--the beads being human teeth! A remembrance, moreover, admonishes him that this ghastly necklace was worn by the sorceress, not for adornment, but to inspire dread. It is, in fact, one of her weapons of weird mystery and power, and an idea has occurred to him that it may now be used as an instrument against herself.

Having detached it from her neck, and replaced the poncho upon her head, he returns to where he had left the others, and holding out the string of teeth, says to Nacena--

"Take this. Present it to the crazy paleface; tell him Shebotha sent it as a token authorising you to act for her; and, if he be not altogether out of his wits, I warrant it'll get you admission to the presence of the paleface. For anything beyond, you will best know how to act of yourself."

The girl grasps the hideous symbol, a gleam of intelligence lighting up her swarth but beautiful face. For she, too, antic.i.p.ates the effect it will have on Shebotha's slave, from actual knowledge--not by guessing, as with Gaspar.

Knowing herself now at liberty and free to depart, without saying another word, she turns her back upon them; and gliding away with the agile, stealthy step peculiar to her race, soon pa.s.ses beyond their sight.

They stand looking after her, till her dark figure disappears amid the shadows of the scaffolds. But they have no doubt of her fidelity--no fear that she will fail to do what she can for the fulfilment of her promise. The keeping it is secured by her own interested motives: for the pa.s.sion impelling her to act on their behalf, though purely selfish, can be trusted as truth itself.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

A DELUDED JAILER.

Midnight's hour is past, the moon has gone down, and in the Indian town there is darkness and silence. Every one is asleep, or seems to be; since no light shines either in _toldo_ or tent, neither can a human figure be seen in the streets, or anywhere around.

At some distance from the houses, however, among thickly-standing trees, and close into the base of the hill, is the quaint dwelling-place of Shebotha--half cave, half hut--and inside this flickers a faint light, from a dip candle of crude beeswax, with a wick of the fibre of the _pita_ plant. By its red flame, mingled with much smoke, a collection of curious objects is dimly discernible; not articles of furniture, for these are few, but things appertaining to the craft in which Shebotha is supposed to have skill--demonology. There are the bones and skins of monkeys, with those of snakes, lizards, and other reptiles; teeth of the alligator and jaguar; the proboscis-like snouts of the _tapir_ and _tamanoir_, or great ant-bear, with a variety of other like oddities, furnished by the indigenous creatures of the Chaco in every department of the zoological world--birds, quadrupeds, insects, reptiles, and fishes.

This motley conglomeration is for the most part arranged against the inner wall of the hut, and opposite the entrance, so as to be observable by any one looking in at the door, or even pa.s.sing by it. For its purpose is to impress the superst.i.tious victims of Shebotha's craft with a belief in her witching ways. And to give this a more terrifying and supernatural character, a human skull, representing a death's head, with a pair of tibia for crossbones underneath, is fixed centrally and prominently against the wall.

The same light that so faintly illuminates this paraphernalia of repulsive objects, also shines upon one that is pleasing--this the figure of a young girl, with a face wonderfully fair. For she is Francesca Halberger.

At the hour spoken of she is the sole occupant of the hut; its owner, Shebotha, being abroad. For it is the self-same hour and instant when the sorceress has the rosary of teeth s.n.a.t.c.hed so rudely from her neck.

She is seated on the edge of a _catre_, or cane bedstead, of the pallet kind, her head buried in her hands, through the white fingers of which her long golden tresses fall in rich profusion, scattered over and mingling with the fur of the great pampas wolf which serves as a sort of mattress for the bed.

The candle has burnt down into the socket of its rude stick, but at intervals flares up, with a crackling, sputtering noise; as it it does so, showing upon her features that same sad look as when she was being carried hither, a captive; only that her face is now paler, and the expression upon it telling of a despair deeper and more settled. She has slept but little from the day of her entrance under Shebotha's roof, and no great deal since she last lay on her own bed at home. What sleep she now gets is only in short s.n.a.t.c.hes; when tired nature can no longer continue the struggle with thoughts all the while torturing her. No wonder at sweet slumber being thus long denied her, with such memories to keep her awake! In fancy, ever before her seems the face of her father with that look of agony she last saw upon it, as he lay upon the ground, weltering in his gore. And in fancy also, she beholds the ruffian, Valdez, standing above the prostrate form, waving over it his blood-stained spear, a very demon exultant!

But her painful thoughts are not all of the past. She has doubts and fears also for the future, dark as she reflects on her own situation, and what will be done to her; but still darker when she thinks of those left behind and far away. What will become of her dear mother and brother? What of him--dear, ah! perhaps dearer than either--her handsome cousin? For Cypriano's affection for her is fully reciprocated.

Not strange then the sadness overspreading her features, nor the weight of woe in her heart; as she dwells on the fate that may be his and theirs. For she knows they are all in danger--great and certain danger; has known it ever since seeing Valdez, the _vaqueano_, consorting with the Tovas Indians, and on friendly terms with their chief. Oft had she asked herself the question whither he went afterwards! Did he return to Paraguay, or go direct to the _estancia_, there to complete his diabolical work--begun by murder, to end in the same with other crimes?

In any case he would not likely leave them unharmed, as the captive girl too truly apprehends.

With such terrible thoughts to agitate her breast, no wonder she should be awake while everyone around seems slumbering. But on this night, and at this hour, something besides hinders her from seeking repose; that being the absence of Shebotha, which, for certain reasons, makes her more than ordinarily apprehensive. In truth, she is greatly alarmed by it. Never before has the sorceress been out of her _toldo_ to stay for any continued time; above all, never during the hours of night. Why should she be absent now, and so long?

While asking herself these questions, the captive has not the slightest intention to take advantage of Shebotha's absence, and make trial to escape. Well knows she that would be idle, and she could not get away if she tried. For though the owner of the hut is off watch, there is one on it--a man sitting, or squatted, just outside the door. No red man, but one with a white skin; himself a prisoner, and who possibly once, as she, felt distressed by his captivity. It may have been this very feeling which has made him what he now is--a witless idiot, resigned to his fate. In any case, he seems to be contented as Shebotha's slave; and, perhaps ignorant of there being any better, serves her with a fidelity worthy of a better mistress. No watch-dog at that _toldo's_ door were more to be trusted than he.

She inside has no intention, nor ever had, of tempting him to be untrue to his trust. Even could he be induced to let her pa.s.s out, what purpose would it serve? She could not make her way home; and he is not the sort of man to see her safe through more than two hundred miles of wilderness. The idea is too hopeless to be entertained, and she does not for an instant entertain it.

The thoughts that now occupy her mind are not of how she may escape from her captivity, but dwelling upon a theme altogether different. She is thinking who will be the next one to darken the door of the hut; fearing it may be neither Shebotha herself, nor yet her slave, but the man who is master of both--Aguara!

True, the young _cacique_ has not as yet offered her either outrage or insult; instead still approaches her with courtesy, and a pretence of friendship. For all, something--it may be instinct--admonishes her that he is acting under a mask, which he may at any moment cast aside, revealing the monster, as she believes him to be. And with sufficient reason, recalling that tragedy which deprived her of a father; and sure, despite all his protestations, that Aguara played a willing part in it.

While thus apprehensively reflecting, she hears footsteps, as of some one approaching the place. The sound causes her to start to her feet, and stand listening, with a heightened expression of fear upon her face.

For, although the footfall is distant, and only distinguishable as such by the rustle it makes among the dead leaves, she can tell it is not that of Shebotha, with whose halting gait and shuffling step her ear has grown familiar. Whose, then? Who would be coming to the hut at that time of night--now morning--save Shebotha herself? None but she, and those of her belonging, dare do so either by night or by day? For the _toldo_ of the sorceress is a sort of sanctuary, tabooed to the people of the tribe, and no one may enter or approach its sacred precincts, without having her permission, or being bidden by her. Yes; one may, and can--Aguara.

Still darker shows the fear upon the face of the captive girl, as she thinks of this special privilege accorded to the _cacique_, of which she has been made aware. It must be he who is drawing near, and with him a danger she has long vaguely apprehended.

For some seconds she remains intently listening, her young heart pulsing audibly within her breast. It beats easier as the footfall draws nigher, and she can tell it is not that of a man. The tread is too light and elastic. It cannot be Aguara who approaches.

She is still surer of its not being he, as the footsteps, having come close up to the hut, cease to be heard, and in their place a different sound enters through the open door--a feminine voice speaking in soft, dulcet tones.

The speech is not addressed to the captive herself, but to him who watches outside. After an interchange of ordinary salutation, and an inquiry by the watcher as to what is wanted--this evidently in tone of surprise--the soft voice responds, "I want to speak with the little pale free."

"You cannot. Shebotha forbids it. No one may enter here without her permission."

"But I have more than her permission--her commands. She has sent me with a message to the paleface. At this moment Mam Shebotha has a matter elsewhere, and could not come herself."

"You may be speaking the truth, but how am I to know?" questions the man, as he regards the intruder with an incredulous stare. "I don't go so far as to say you are telling a lie. All I say is, that the thing isn't at all likely. Mam Shebotha's not the sort to trust her affairs to such a _chiquit.i.ta_ as you."

"You know me, don't you?"

"Oh, yes; you are Kaolin's sister--her they call the belle of the tribe; your name's Nacena."

"It is so; and surely you'll believe me? The sister of Kaolin would not speak false. You cannot suppose I am deceiving you?"

"Ah!" he rejoins, with his words heaving a sigh, "it is often those who are most beautiful who most deceive."

Possibly the memory of some such deception, an experience of times long past, has been awakened within him. It embitters his speech as he continues--

"I can't--I won't believe you--though you are Kaolin's sister, and ever so fair to look upon."

"But you will, when you look upon this."

She draws out the string of teeth s.n.a.t.c.hed from the neck of the sorceress, and holds it up to his eyes, adding--

"That I bring from Shebotha herself. She gave it me to show you as a sign that I have her permission to speak with the paleface--nay, her command, as I've said. Now!"